Agotia
“Areyoulisteningtome, miss?”
The bank teller's nasally voice cut through my thoughts like an ax. I had been here for an hour, trying to make sense of my financial mess with no luck.
As I had expected, while the Cheese Festival had been a success, I needed more. What I hadn't expected was being so worked up over my dinner with Alexander tonight. It was more like dinner with Asta, but there was a good chance he would be there too, which meant that he had yet to leave my thoughts. It was all the wrong timing. I should be focused on my family's farm, not some eye-catcher, tall, dark, and handsome stranger.
“You are not taking this seriously,” the teller chided.
“I am,” I argued back, “I just have a lot on my mind.”
"With only two weeks separating you from your property being taken by the bank to pay your debt, you would be more focused on our meeting."
"Two weeks?" My heart dropped as I thought about what that would mean.
I would be without a home, without the dusty picture frames or even that worn old couch on which I'd spent countless hours watching old movies with my father. Beyond that, all the farm workers would be without jobs and would have to scramble to find a way to support their own families.
“What are my options?” I asked, hopeful that this sour old man would have a compromise for me.
“Find a rich man and marry him. Otherwise, you will have to produce at least fifty thousand dollars between now and the end of the two weeks.”
I walked out of the bank in a fog. I stayed another hour, demanding the teller run the numbers multiple times. But no matter how he presented it, there was no avoiding the obvious truth. Between my father's medical bills, the cost of repairing the farm on top of the usual bills, and the cost of running everything, there was no way I could afford everything on my own. The insane idea of marrying someone rich started to sound less and less insane the more I thought about it.
I was tempted to stop for a coffee on my way back to the farm, but even such a little gesture to myself felt out of reach at the moment. I had already blown through all my savings, and the Cheese Festival had been the only idea I'd had thus far.
As I wove through the mountains and valleys of Voss, I started to think through all the things I could sell. Even I needed more than that to cover half of what I needed. The thought made me grip the steering wheel tighter. I couldn't lose my father and the farm at the same time. There had to be more that I could do; I racked my brain trying to come up with a solution, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Alexander.
When I first saw him in the hardware store, I assumed he was just an American tourist needing supplies for his travels. I had convinced myself that it did not matter if I made an absolute fool of myself in front of him; there was a slim chance that I would ever see the man again.
If I had been honest with myself, the idea of never seeing him again was more than a little disappointing, but it saved my pride. For him to show up at the Cheese Festival, smirking and sticking out like a sore thumb, had me rethinking everything. I still am.
I pulled around the corner, and the farm came into view. The old house and the barn that was one gust of wind away from collapsing was a bittersweet sight. It reminded me of my enormous task while simultaneously getting my mind off Alexander. I shook my head, hoping to shake my thoughts loose of him. So, what if he had brown wavy hair that hung around his head like a riotous mess? So, what if he was hands down the most attractive person I had ever seen? I had work to do.
The afternoon had gone the same as the first part of the day. I had stumbled all over myself, spilling half the bucket of chicken feed. Then I got lost in my thoughts while cleaning the stalls and made an even bigger mess. Eventually, the farm hands grew frustrated with my inability to accomplish anything and sent me inside.
I didn't have much luck there, either. I had tried to tidy up the house, which led to a broken vacuum. I also sprayed water all over the kitchen floor in an attempt to do the dishes. And the pie I baked for dinner was a charred heap currently sitting in the trash can, too burnt to even give to the animals. I could not focus on anything. Well, anything but dinner tonight.
Around four o’clock, Asta called to confirm tonight's plan and reminded me to wear hiking boots for the trails later. The idea of a late-night stroll was as enticing as seeing Alexander again.
He was the true culprit behind today's disasters. I couldn't get the picture of him in his dark jeans and cream-colored sweater strolling through the festival as if he owned it. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could hear his raspy voice like a faint whisper dancing across the back of my neck. I had only talked to the man twice, and the first time, he had done all the talking. There was no way tonight was going to go well.
Regardless, I took my time getting ready. I figured this would be my last chance to enjoy a night before throwing myself at doing whatever I must to save the farm. Yes, I might as well enjoy it.
I scrubbed off the remnants of today's messes in the shower and toweled myself off, trying to decide what I would wear. It needed to be casual enough for a hike but not so comfortable that I looked like a slob. I settled on my favorite pair of black leggings and a thin, cropped white sweater. I took more time than usual with my makeup, allowing the dark brown eyeliner and black mascara to highlight my bright blue eyes.
Finally deciding this was about as good as it would get, I slipped into my black tennis shoes and headed for the coat closet. Opening that door was like opening a bottle of memories.
I had put almost all my father's things away in his room. Out of sight, out of mind, and that was that. This was the one closet I had not been able to empty. His flannels and work jackets hung in a line, each proudly covered in one stain or another; several had holes. As I looked at them, allowing the memories of him wearing them to wash over me, I noticed how old and threadbare most of his things were for the first time.
I stood there, jaw open and heart aching, for a few minutes as I thought through things. My father rarely bought himself anything new but every Christmas, sending each farm worker home with gifts for their children.
The only thing in relatively good condition was a cable knit sweater I gave him three years ago for his birthday. These were other signs of how tight things had become. The kitchen stove only had one burner that worked anymore, the television was over fifteen years old, and the truck rattled anytime you went above forty miles an hour.
“How could I have been so blind?” I asked myself as I gripped the sleeve of a jacket from the closet.
It was clear now that the problem I was facing, the desperation I felt for a solution, was the same thing he had been fighting for years. The thought almost crushed me, but it also gave me hope. If my father could make ends meet and keep things together this long, I would figure something out too.
Reaching around my father's old things, I pulled my favorite denim jacket out of the closet and slipped into it. I shut the door with renewed determination and glanced at my clock. I still had more than half an hour before leaving for dinner. Wanting to heed the restlessness I could feel creeping in, I went to the barn. I could afford to do chores and make up for my lack of productivity from today.
